


Devil Trapped

by MomentsAway



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Demon Dean Winchester, M/M, Mentions of John Winchester's A+ Parenting, angsty Cas, canon divergent after season 10 episode 3, graphic depictions of gore from Dean's time in Hell, not a particularly happy ending...oops.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-30
Updated: 2019-10-30
Packaged: 2021-01-04 07:16:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21193748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MomentsAway/pseuds/MomentsAway
Summary: “Cas,” Dean said, all gravel and tempered rage.“Hello, Dean.”Dean glanced down at his bound wrists and tugged, the rope cutting into his skin and causing blood to drip onto the intricately drawn lines beneath his chair. There was blood on his face and hands from the fight he’d put up when Sam and Castiel had tied him down. He didn’t seem to mind.“Help a guy out, Cas. Untie me? Pretty please?”Castiel tried for authoritative and urged his fading grace to the surface, bathing the room in brilliant blue light for a moment. He straightened his back and held Dean’s eyes. “No.”Dean looked him over again then threw his head back laughing. The sound was so achingly familiar that Castiel almost moved closer, almost reached a hand out.His laughter faded to soft chuckles and Dean sat back in his chair as much as his bindings would allow him. “That all ya got, angel? Looks like that fancy grace is fading fast.”





	Devil Trapped

**Author's Note:**

> I've been itching to write a little demon!Dean, and kinda delve into some specifics of what went on in Hell. There isn't enough demon!Dean fic out there, so I thought I'd add a lil somethin to the mix :) I wish the writer's of the show had done more with him when he was a demon, but alas...
> 
> Anyhoo, it got a little darker than I'd planned on, and Cas got very...submissive without my meaning for it, so I apologize if this is a smidge OOC. And TBH, I lost track of when Cas was an angel, when he had his own grace, when he was human, and when he was kinda sorta an angel waaaaay back when, so I might have taken some liberties when it comes to how powerful he is (or isn't) :-P
> 
> As always, many thanks to BeefNubbins69 and OzodienDeElo for the awesome beta-fu <3 
> 
> concrit welcome.
> 
> Enjoy!

The screaming had stopped a few hours before, but the silence that followed was somehow louder. 

Castiel paced back and forth, nodding absently as Sam tried to convince him that having Dean chained to a chair in the middle of a powerful devil’s trap was the right thing.

“Cas, if we continue to let him just, like,” Sam gestured vaguely and shrugged, “Pretend he’s not on his way to becoming a demonic serial killer, he could really hurt somebody.”

Neither mentioned the harm Dean had already caused to demons and humans alike. 

“I know. You’re right. It’s safer this way,” Castiel said, but he bit his lip and glanced in the direction of the warded door Dean was locked behind for the hundredth time.

Sam sighed and closed the books and Men of Letters files he’d been looking through. As with the many before them, these tomes that promised ancient wisdom held no answers about how to cure a human who was resurrected as a Knight of Hell by the Mark of Cain.

They’d researched every type of exorcism they could find, and they even went so far as to capture a few demons to practice on. But everything failed. Every time they tried, they could manage to exorcise the demon, but the human would inevitably die, or the ingredients for a spell were no longer in existence, or nothing would happen at all and they’d have a pissed off demon to deal with.

After another long, fruitless day of dead ends and grasping at straws, Sam murmured something about heading into town for supplies and Castiel was left to stand guard over the once Righteous Man.

Dean started growling and screaming the minute the bunker door closed as if he knew Castiel was an easy target without Sam around to be the voice of reason. The hollering was incoherent nonsense for a while, easy for Castiel to ignore. 

But then, “Cas! Cas, please! It hurts!” Dean’s deep voice rumbled at him from behind the door. It sounded torn and ripped.

Do not give in. He’s trying to get you in there so he can try to talk his way out. Do not open that door. 

Castiel could hear Sam’s voice in his head and he scowled as he crossed his arms over his chest in defiance. He was an Angel of the Lord. He would not be swayed by some lowly demon, friend or not.

“Castiel, baby, please. You gotta help me; I need you, Cas!”

He squeezed his eyes shut against the words, wishing his grace was strong enough to protect him from his own mortal weaknesses, like love.

Dean moaned, the sound drawn out and pitiful. He made noises as if he were crying, but it was the soft, broken whispers of, “Cas, Cas, Cas,” that finally shattered Castiel’s resolve.

The hinges of the door cried out and echoed down the long hallway as if escaping from the bunker to alert Sam to the monumental mistake Castiel was making. 

The room was lit only by a single hanging bulb that threw eerie shadows across Dean, casting his features into sharp angles and dark, blurred edges. 

Glittering black eyes watched as Castiel stood just inside the door. There was a smirk plastered across his face and he licked his cracked lips as he looked the angel up and down. Castiel wished that his grace was strong enough to let him see Dean’s demon face. It would make every interaction they had sting less.

“Cas,” Dean said, all gravel and tempered rage.

“Hello, Dean.”

Dean glanced down at his bound wrists and tugged, the rope cutting into his skin and causing blood to drip onto the intricately drawn lines beneath his chair. There was blood on his face and hands from the fight he’d put up when Sam and Castiel had tied him down. He didn’t seem to mind.

“Help a guy out, Cas. Untie me? Pretty please?”

Castiel tried for authoritative and urged his fading grace to the surface, bathing the room in brilliant blue light for a moment. He straightened his back and held Dean’s eyes. “No.”

Dean looked him over again then threw his head back laughing. The sound was so achingly familiar that Castiel almost moved closer, almost reached a hand out.

His laughter faded to soft chuckles and Dean sat back in his chair as much as his bindings would allow him. “That all ya got, angel? Looks like that fancy grace is fading fast.”

Castiel swallowed but did not reply.

“C’mon, Cas! Talk to me. I thought we had something, you know, before Metatron killed me. I thought we had like, a moment, or whatever,” Dean spread his legs suggestively, or tried to, given the little slack the ropes gave him.

Shaking his head, Castiel finally turned to go, chastising himself for being fooled. Again.

“Cas, wait! Don’t go, man. I’m so fuckin’ bored!” Dean whined, but it came out as a menacing growl and he gnashed his teeth in Castiel’s direction.

“Fine. You want to talk? Let’s talk,” Castiel spun on his heel and grabbed the chair Sam kept near the door. He kept it well out of arm’s reach and sat down. “Tell me about Hell.”

Dean tilted his head in confusion and blinked, his eyes vibrant green when he opened them again. “Hell?”

“Yes, Dean. Tell me about Hell.”

“What do you wanna know? You saw it all when you gripped me tight and raised me from perdition,” he sneered and blinked his eyes black again. The sight was jarring and Castiel looked away for a moment.

“I only saw you at the end; cutting into souls with Alistair guiding your hand. There were decades before that, weren’t there? Decades you said no to taking up the knife. I want to know about those years.” This was mostly true. Castiel was curious about what it was that finally made Dean snap, but he really just wanted to hear Dean’s voice, dark and abused as it was. He wanted to be around the other man, to feel his heat even if it meant listening to him spew vitriol and hate. 

Dean leaned back in his chair and bit his lip as he thought. “Aw, nobody wants to hear my sob story. Why don’t I tell you about the first soul Alistair gave me to work on by myself?” He smiled fondly as if the memories of torturing helpless souls were pleasant.

Castiel recoiled slightly, frowning. He shook his head and started to speak but Dean cut him off.

“Or do you wanna hear about the other methods we used to break souls? You’d be surprised at how the concept of ‘pain’ transcends even death. And how easy it is to twist pleasure into pain.”

Dean was grinning now, watching as Castiel shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Maybe talking wasn’t such a good idea…

“Oh Cas, there is something about the way skin peels off the muscle that just,” Dean paused, licked his lips again and continued, “Calmed me right down. With every strip I cut off, it was like my mind quieted and I forgot I was in Hell. I forgot why I ever said no in the first place.” 

Castiel, trying to hide how appalled he was, had nothing to say to that, so Dean kept going.

“Alistair said that breaking the soul was never the endgame; it was more about the freedom I got when the soul was finally broken. It was a reward, but between you and me, doing the breaking wasn’t actually half bad.” He winked. “Ya know, I was surprised at how wise Alistair was, for a demon. I used to think he was spouting bullshit, but eventually, I kinda got it.”

“You were a demon, it makes sense that he would be able to reach you easier that way. You weren’t yourself,” Castiel reasoned.

Dean scoffed. “Myself? Myself was an alcoholic closet case with daddy issues. I was trying to kill this meat suit daily, eating like shit, drinking too much, (n) fucking anything that moved-except you of course. Closet case, remember?” He winked. “I was a waste. Being who I am now, I’m free. This is the real me.” His eyes narrowed, daring Castiel to challenge him.

Castiel wanted to punch him for saying such things. Dean Winchester was brave, selfless, and kind. He was The Righteous Man! Castiel wanted to smite the demon from Dean’s body then bask in the purity of the soul that would be restored. He wanted-

“You think I’m not Dean? You think I’m some other demon inhabiting his body?” Dean grinned knowingly. “I’ve always been able to read you like a book, Cas,” he leaned forward, the ropes binding him stretching and creaking. His lips pulled away from his teeth in a snarl. “I am Dean. I’m him, but so much better. This is what you get when the righteousness fades away.”

“No!” Castiel stood suddenly, anger making his grace sputter and flicker. He stood at the edge of the devil’s trap and glared down at Dean, looming over him and trying not to let his grace leak out and blind the human housing the beast. “You are an abomination. You are a sin. You are not Dean. Not, really.”

“If I’m not him, how do I have all his memories, even of his time in The Pit? If I’m not him, how do I know how much he liked the feeling of blood running warm and thick down his arms? That his favorite song was the sound of people screaming under his blade. How do I know that there were so many times he wanted to kill his own brother just to be done with the bullshit? Did you know that he sometimes dreamt of drowning Sam in the demon blood that little junkie craved? When he found out about Sam shacking up with that vet instead of trying to save him, Dean had a moment where he wondered what life would be like if he’d never saved Sam that night in the nursery. 

If I’m not Dean, how do I know how much he wanted to touch you? To fuck you? How there was always a sick part of him that wanted to make you bleed. His sorry ass was afraid he’d hurt you, so he pussied out and never made a move.”

The bulb lighting the room fizzed and popped as Castiel’s grace flared involuntarily. It shattered and left them in near darkness. Castiel had never closed the door to the room, so the dim hall lights spilled in, but not far, as if even the light was afraid of Dean’s darkness. 

Dean laughed, his eyes shining in the darkness and never leaving Castiel’s face. 

“Lies. I have seen Dean Winchester’s soul, and he would never, ever dream of hurting his brother. You are the twisted remnants of a creature Alistair created, and we will destroy you.” There was a waiver in Castiel’s voice. He tried not to think about the truths that the demon spoke. He tried to deny the few dark spots he’d seen in Dean’s soul. He tried to justify the petulant wayward thoughts tinged with regret as normal for someone in Dean’s line of work. But they were there, even if Dean would never act on them. 

Dean’s laughter faded and he whispered, “Come and see, angel. I’ll let you take a look inside at this mess of a man.” He leaned back and if he wasn’t bound, Castiel imagined he’d have his hands spread wide in invitation.

Every instinct Castiel had screamed at him to not take the bait. His nerves hummed with what little grace he had, preparing to protect himself, but he could feel his feet moving his body closer to Dean, always closer, across the chalked lines trapping the other man. 

“This is a trap,” he said as he stepped between Dean’s spread knees. His hand reached forward anyway, his breath held as he stared down into dark eyes. Some part of him- the human part- yearned for this; needed to touch this man. That part of him desired nothing more than to close his eyes and lie to himself as he felt stubbled skin beneath his fingers.

Dean tilted his head forward slightly, meeting Castiel’s hand as it rested on his cheek. His knees closed, caging Castiel and forcing him closer still. “Even if it is, you can’t help yourself, can you?” He spoke softly, his voice a rough timbre that shivered down Castiel’s spine even as he was disgusted by the demon. 

It felt like hours before Castiel finally rested his other hand on Dean’s cheek and then he just held him, gazing at the familiar features that hid a monster. His grace pooled in his fingertips and he closed his eyes as Dean’s perfect lips twisted into a pained grimace and grace slowly poured into him.

Castiel thought there would be sizzling, smoking, and screaming when his angelic grace pushed its way past demonic tendrils that reached out and clawed at it. He thought light would burst from Dean’s eye sockets and mouth as he killed his best friend. But Dean only grunted as Castiel touched his black soul. Distantly, Castiel could feel Dean’s body slump in his grip, leaning against him in a mockery of a hug. 

As they adjusted to each other, Castiel got glimpses of technicolor images. Memories, or dreams, or passing thoughts swept by him, pulling him to brief moments in Dean’s life.

Warmth and love enveloped him as Mary Winchester held her new son, tears in her eyes and told John the baby’s name was Dean.

Red and orange flames licked at him as a four-year-old Dean flew down a flight of stairs and onto dew-wet grass. He felt the way the breath burned in Dean’s lungs from the smoke and the way fear made his whole body shake. He felt how fiercely Dean wanted to protect his baby brother.

Castiel huddled in a corner with Dean as they curled protectively around Sam’s smaller form, shielding him from their father. John cried as he drank himself into a stupor at a nondescript laminate covered motel table. Both boys also cried, but Castiel could feel the rage inside Dean, hatred mingling with fear. Many memories that washed over Castiel had this same feeling at the edges, singeing the bits of soul-white with sorrow and inky darkness. 

Laughter echoed around him as he watched Dean teaching Sam to drive. Happiness bubbled in his grace as the Impala jerked and shuddered while Sam learned the right way to press the brakes. Dean assures Sam that he can fix whatever damage was being done as Sam makes the gears grind, then follows up with threats of Nair in his shampoo when the car stalls. Dean ’s joy was overwhelming and comforting as Castiel let himself get wrapped up in the memory.

A girl wrapped her legs around Dean’s waist and cried out as he moved inside her. Castiel could feel her heat and wetness, her nails digging into his skin. He could feel the sticky leather of the Impala’s seat beneath them. Dean was lost in this girl, as he was in every girl and woman he bedded in every memory and image, giving himself fully to the act of pleasing them. He was so sure of himself, so sure he could make his partner happy. Even when he started secretly flirting with men, hoping Sam would never notice. He tried to make them smile, to make them feel like they were all he could see.

He caught his breath as his own face flashed before him. He was stern and serious, his eyes blazing blue as he took in Dean and Bobby. The memory was like a still photo, surrounded by light and drowning in so many emotions that he could barely grasp any of them for more than a moment. He almost pulled away as Dean himself realized his reaction to an Angel of The Lord; fear, disbelief, lust. He could feel Dean develop feelings for him as they spent more time together, granted it was mostly frustration and mistrust in the beginning. But as images surrounded him and his grace was pulled closer to a dark center, he could feel Dean falling in love with him and working hard to suppress it. He wanted to stop and bask in the beauty of being the focus of Dean’s affection, but the demon tugged on his grace and then...

And then it was gone and there was only blackness and screaming.

Castiel’s grace shrank back but the demon had a firm grip on him. Like a flipbook, Castiel watched in horror as Dean tortured and mutilated soul after soul. He tried to look away from Dean’s glazed black eyes and wide smile, but he couldn’t. Alistair circled around Dean and his victims, whispering encouragement and criticisms in his ear. His hand rested on Dean’s, fingers slipping between Dean’s bloodied ones to guide each cut. Castiel felt sick. Dean and Alistair went through thousands of souls, millions, without a care for anything other than hearing the screams and cries they caused. They were inventive in their methods, reading each soul and using its fears to their advantage. It was disconcerting how beautiful Castiel found Dean even covered in blood and laughing maniacally with Alistair. His soul was blackened, but Castiel was so enamored that even seeing him like this was not enough to make Castiel love this man any less.

He was lost to Dean. Seeing into his soul, even the blackest parts, had only deepened Castiel’s love. He would do anything for him. Anything.

“Yeah, sweetheart, that’s right. Let me go,” Dean’s low voice was close to his ear. Castiel was on his knees between Dean’s legs, his fingers working to untie the knots. He was aware of what he was doing, cognizant that he was no longer inside Dean’s mind.

There was a distracting hand in his hair as he worked on Dean’s other wrist. He paused and leaned his head into Dean’s hand. Fingers tugged his dark strands and he glanced up into green eyes.

“You’re doing good, angel, so good to me,” Dean purred. His smile was not the soft one Castiel was used to, but it still felt incredible to have it directed at him nonetheless.

Castiel finished with Dean’s wrists and moved to ankles, pulling apart the rope with deft fingers. He was already trying to think of how to explain himself to Sam. He could think of no scenario where telling Sam that he did this out of love actually made sense to the younger Winchester.

Dean stood once the ropes fell away and he stretched. He cracked his neck as he moved around inside the trap, wrinkling his nose at the chalk lines. He bent at the waist and inspected the lines closer before turning to the angel at his feet.

“Is there blood mixed with these chalk lines?”

Castiel nodded. He was still on his knees, still gazing up at Dean. Still aware he was making a mistake. Still doing nothing about it.

“Is it your blood? You added angel blood to a devil’s trap?” Dean glanced at the lines again, a grin on his face. “Smart. Who thought that up? Sammy?”

“Yes. Sam thought it might help reinforce the trap.” 

“He really wanted me locked up and out of his way,” Dean’s voice dropped into a low rumble, anger evident in every word. He paced inside the small circle like a caged lion. Finally, he stopped and knelt down in front of Castiel. His eyes were still sparkling green, even in the dimly lit room, and Castiel couldn’t look away. He didn’t want to.

Dean tilted his head and leaned close. His breath was warm on Castiel’s face and his lips were scant inches from touching his skin.

“Ya know Cas, we can still do this if you want. I told you I’m Dean. I still want you.”

The words were music in Castiel’s ears and his eyes slipped closed. He‘d been wanting to hear Dean say this to him for years. There was nothing more that Castiel wanted than to give in, to let Dean take what he wanted, to give Dean anything. 

“Dean, I-I can’t. Not like this,” Castiel whispered.

He didn’t open his eyes as he felt Dean take the angel blade from his jacket. There was a scraping sound as the blade scratched away the blood-infused chalk lines then a clatter of metal on stone as Dean tossed the weapon aside. He stepped out of the circle and smiled.

“Shame. But you wouldn’t have been my first angel.” Dean didn’t look back as he left the room. His footsteps echoed down the hall. 

Castiel was still sitting in the middle of the devil’s trap long after Dean had left.


End file.
